Significant Looks
by darth spots and darth stripes
Summary: Set in Season Seven, "Beneath You" where Spike & Xander share a significant look - which, in my Buffyverse, triggers certain memories. Light insinuated Spander. oneshot


_**A/N: I'd never planned to ever write Buffy fanfiction, simply because I think it's really difficult to find a good plot, and then write in the demanding style of the show; and yet, here I am, posting a Buffy Fanfic. **_**Weird.**_** It's supposed to be sort of disjointed, and un-flowy, so I hope it doesn't wreck it. Plus I didn't want to do details, mainly because I'm lazy, but also because I wanted it to be worked out by you – le readers.**_

_**It's set in Season Seven, "Beneath You", where (I believe her name is?) Nicky asks if anyone hasn't slept with each other, and Xander and Spike look at each other.**_

_**And enough with the rambling – enjoy!**_

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns Buffy. Joss Whedon is cool. Not that I'm not cool, I'm just not the owner of Buffy.

"Significant Looks" 

"Is there anyone here who _hasn't_ slept together?"

Slowly, they'd turned their faces to look at each other – like there was some magnetic force drawing their eyes together. They hadn't wanted to look at each other – what, with the mutual hate? – and yet they did.

And the second their eyes locked, the memories flooded back into mind.

Memories they'd probably spend the whole of their life – or un-life, in Spike's case – trying to forget.

It had been almost three years ago; a dull, boring, demon-less, fun-less night.

Spike and Xander sat in the temporarily shared basement, watching some crappy movie on the television; both slightly frustrated to be in the others' company.

Or perhaps they were still frustrated with the fight they'd just had over which channel they were going to watch.

The silence had been maintained since the end of the quarrel – even Spike had managed to go almost hal and hour without saying a single thing. And then…

"I don' know 'bout you, Xandy-man," his voice in a (ironically) deadpanned tone, "But this is as dull as… wait a minute – this is the dullest thing I've ever experienced. And I'm not exactly the youngest around here."

Xander rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but agree – it _stank._

"I'll say," he managed to get out, hating that he shared the same opinion as the irritating vampire.

Spike gave him an incredulous look, and upon realising Xander's sincerity, shrugged nonchalantly and walked over to a paper bag on the floor.

He pulled out a bottle of whiskey, held it up and asked, "Problem solvin'?"

Xander paused for a moment… perhaps getting drunk with the undead was a bad choice.

Spike waved the bottle around a little; an unnaturally eager look on his face – you wouldn't have thought he was over a hundred years old with _that_ expression. Childish idiot.

Xander what-the-helled his conscience and grinned.

"Problem solving," he nodded – and then paused. "That… uh, doesn't involve mathematics, does it? 'Cause the numbers – and me – we're not friends."

It was Spike's turn to roll his eyes, thinking that Darwin's Theory Of Evolution could not possibly be right if blokes like Xander were still living.

"Yeah – well – neither are we. And no, no mathematics, smarty-pants."

And with that, the drinks were poured, the shots downed, and before long Xander was incredibly…

"Shnockered," Xander slurred, swaying.

Indeed, it took Spike a bit longer to reach the stage of….

"Shnockered," Spike slurred, sounding pretty much exactly like Xander had.

"Mmm… why d'yoo hate me?" Xander asked, out of the blue. Or rather, out of the whiskey.

"No idea, what do you hate me?"

"Nah! I – you're raaaadical…"

Spike perked up. "Really?"

Xander nodded, which was probably not a good choice after the consumption of copious amounts of alcohol; his head was all spinny, and adding movement to that was a bad choice.

Spike laughed, without any control whatsoever.

Xander joined in, unsure of what was funny, but too drunk to care about reasons for laughter.

"I'm radical!" Spike said in a highly pitched voice.

"Radical!" Xander belted out, in falsetto.

Spike head-banged, despite the lack of music.

Xander stood up and started doing the Macarena.

Spike _hated_ the Macarena.

It was his hate of the vile dance which propelled him forwards… with no real intention except movement.

Xander only noticed he'd been tackled when he hit the floor.

"What?" he giggled, in an extremely girly fashion.

"No Macarena!" Spike growled, "is bloody stupid and – gay people do it."

"Mmmkay," Xander shrugged, with difficulty. And then he realised Spike was still on top of him. "Get off."

"No," Drunken Spike rather liked squishing Xander.

"Get off!" Xander wailed.

"Make me."

Xander kicked his leg up, threatening Spike's man-vampire-hood in the process.

"Ouch!" Spike groaned at the intense pain he's just received from Xander's knee.

"Made ya! Made you get off me, Spike," Xander triumphantly yelled.

"S'okay."

But it really did hurt, and even drunk, Xander could see that.

He knelt next to Spike, who was clutching what he considered to be the most important part of his body.

"Are you alright?" Xander swayed.

"Mmm," Spke consented.

"Anything I can do?"

"Mmno."

"Sorry…"

Their eyes met, and that was all they needed – excluding the litres of alcohol – to be connected by the lips, and later, other bodily parts.

Yes, indeed, the memories had come back to haunt them.

They hastily looked away from each other, both reminding themselves furiously of their heterosexuality, and loathing of the other.

_I'm not gay, I'm not gay, and even if I were I _hate _him._

_**End.**_


End file.
